


i. the royal scholars of volinia

by merriell



Series: timbre [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:01:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21986341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merriell/pseuds/merriell
Summary: Temur of Antigoni had one thing in his mind: safely get into Selara to atone for his sins.Destiny, however, had other opinions in the matter.
Series: timbre [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1582723





	1. Correspondence

There are plenty ways to relieve yourself from the chains of time in the world, but Temur of Antigoni had realized that he had been forced to pick the most tedious. He leaned away from the books in front of him, nearly knocking the ink near his hand as he did so. He rubbed his eyes, thick with lack of sleep, the dawn light peeking from the horizon, completely overshadowing the yellow alchemical light located in front of him. With his other hand, he turned off the light and sighed, realizing that he had let time pass by so quick, yet again.

Temur of Antigoni was a lean youth in his twenties, his hair a mop of dark brown messy on his head, his skin pale from the lack of sun time on Volyani sky. He was the first son of the Duke of Lustrum, and would have suffered his blue bloodline if he had been born into anywhere that wasn’t the culture of scholars of Volinia Empire, as he had no interest in anything other than the study of languages, not even in women.

He had been holed up in his study for a few nights. If his mother had still been alive, she would have scolded him for not catching sunlight. As it stood then, though, his stepmother, a half-blooded Volyani with Melaya blood in her veins, tend to be looser in raising her children as soon they were of age. While she left his sister Tamar to train in horseback and swordfight, she let Temur be to tend for his studies, even if he didn’t show up for neither lunch or dinner for a week.

Albeit he probably should have scurry away to break his fast, knowing the kitchen would be alive with preparation, he might be able to skip attending the mess hall with just dry bread accompanying him, the letter in front of him waited in anticipation of him finishing it. The merchant who owned the artifact that allowed him to send and receive messages past sea in a day’s notice would be too busy to handle him if he came at noon time. These messages could not wait. He had to send it to Erol at once.

Picking up his quill once more, Temur wrote down the rest of information of the research he had been conducting, saving most of the information lest it fell onto the wrong hand. Occasionally, he would turn to his side, where another table was also full with writing utensils, books, and one, large map in a parchment that crackled with age. He peered at the map with a pride booming in his chest.

At last.

“Erol, I promise you,” he muttered to himself. “I promise you, I’ll be helpful, soon enough.”

* * *

After finishing his letter, Temur got out of Castle Lustrum with the letter burning in his chest. He went into the market and hurried straight to an unassuming book merchant he had frequented by, always leaving with another book, never revealing his true intention on why he was there at the first place. The merchant, a white-haired Cahotran with easy smile and easier laughter, was already waiting for him while he tallied the book shipments a few dock helpers were hauling to his shop.

“Lord Temur,” Asra greeted, pulling Temur into a brief half-embrace, despite the warm greeting. He dismissed the dock helpers with a mere wave of his hand, leaving him and Temur alone in the book shop. “Here to pick up another book? We have sonnets from those cold Regnum folks. I assure you it’s still salty from the sea’s wind.”

Temur glanced around him cautiously—something had been nagging him the entire time he skulked around the market. He slid the parchment to Asra with a caution. “I hope that’s not love sonnets,” he murmured darkly. “I am done with romance for the year, I think.”

Asra glanced at the parchment. “So fast? You were just picking up a romance book barely a fortnight ago.” Despite that, he slid the letter behind his coat.

“I am already quite well-versed with the happy ending,” he answered flatly, hoping that Asra understood his meaning.

“Ah. I understand. I will keep watch for another book for you, m’lord,” the darker-skinned Cahotran offered him a warm smile. “Should I send a messenger if a book comes up?”

“Oh, if you would be so kind,” Temur nodded. “I have to go.” He eyed the stacks of book, not even pulled out from the chest, before roughly picking up one from the stack. The title, gilded with golden ink and pressed with a dark illustration, stared back at him: _Tales from the Pirate Coast_. He pulled out his satchel and put the book inside, pulling out a silver Sultani and gave it to Asra. “Thank you,” he said genuinely.

Asra’s hand lingered as he replied, his voice quiet so that only the two of them could hear it: “No need to, Telyan. I owe _Jinn_ a great deal of things. To be his friend here in peace, and to be your friend as well, is the least I can do after what he had paid me in faith.”

“Peace be with you, Asran,” Temur squeezed the Cahotran’s hand before walking away, his satchel heavy with the weight of the new book pulling down on his shoulder.

“Peace be with you, Lord Temur.”

He walked out the market, passing by various merchants, a few selling fruit and vegetables before lunch, a few selling hot food, and even alchemical contraptions imported from the Mesharri where the Murayyan Calliphate ruled from, the same kind as the alchemical light that was still in his study, with his gaze trailing to his sides, still gnawed by anxious thoughts even as his feet brought him closer to the moat of the Castle Lustrum where he resided. He was halfway to the moat when his shoulder was grabbed—his heart lurched to his throat as he turned to find his sister and her close friend grinning at him in triumph.

Tamar of Antigoni, with her dark hair hanging loose to her back, her lack of royal custom earning looks from passing common folk as they realized that she was Tamar, was the one grabbing him. She was even wearing common folk’s clothes to blend in, though he doubted any town folk could forget the face of the daughter of the Duke of Lustrum. “Telyan, we’ve caught you red-handed, at last.”

“I can’t believe you went to the town without a guard,” he frowned at her, glancing at the darker-skinned woman, his sister’s age, who was scowling at him with her arms folded in front of her. “ _Hatun_ , I’m so very sorry of my sister’s reckless behaviour—“

“Keep your mouth closed,” while Tamar might be wearing common folk’s clothes to blend in, it was hard for someone that was obviously _not_ Volyani to blend in with the crowd. It helped, at the very least, that _Hatun_ Freya Murad was not the kind of Imperial Princess that was paraded around, different from her older brother. Her presence at Volinia was _supposed_ to be a secret, too, but people from Mesharri was a rare kind in Volinia even as their monarchy occupied them—she stood out like a nail, especially at daylight. “Unless you tell me why you were talking with my brother’s friend that’s been missing for years.”

“Uh,” he stumbled through the words, “I can explain.” Asra de Brunnen might have lightened his hair with alchemical substance, _but_ you couldn’t miss him anywhere if you’ve grown up with him being in your brother’s side.

“Explain,” Freya’s voice was stern and commanding, typical of the heiress of Murayyan Caliphate, Temur couldn’t help but to think, “and I might not tell the Duke that his son had been corresponding with a criminal.”

* * *

“Fine,” Temur rubbed his eyes as they hounded him in his study, his map still opened on the table where it laid, “I’ve been corresponding with your brother through Asran.”

“I think this is the first time I’ve heard you call anyone beside the Prince with a familiar name,” Tamar mused with an amused grin. “Freska, aren’t you glad I told you that following him is a good idea?”

“Perhaps,” Freya was holding Tamar’s hand, a gesture of familiarity they reserved for closed doors—no one would blink an eye, of course, but their father would probably scold her for being too familiar with the Imperial Princess... let alone the familiarity the used between them was reserved more for lovers than close friends.

“I’ve known Asran as long as I’ve known Erkan, of course I’m also close to him,” Temur pulled the map from the table and showed it to them. “ _This_ is why I’ve been corresponding with the _Sehzade_.” Though the title was unnecessary, as the prince had been exiled, Temur found himself unable to refer to Erol as anything other than his title. He adopted a different title now, not that the two in front of him should know. Tamar and Freya opened the map and shared it between them, both of their eyes flaring in recognition.

“You can’t give this to him, _Telyan_ ,” Freya shook her head as she glanced back to the scroll in horror.

“Where did you get this?” Different than Freya, Tamar looked more intrigued than shocked.

“Erkan is the only reason I have the map in the first place. The scroll used to be empty. I managed to make a concoction that revealed the content,” Temur explained, trusting them not to tell anyone. “ _Hatun_ , please. I need to get this to him. It’s the only thing that keeps him going, he already lost everything—“

“He could come back to Mesharri as soon as he returned the compass—“

“He _cannot_ ,” Temur answered with a frown. “You already know, Freyan. He would not.”

Freya’s mood dimmed even more, knowing what Temur meant by that. “Still. You are only going to fuel his obsession.”

“I already did,” Temur sighed. If the artifact was working, Asra would have probably sent the letter by then—and the other half of the artifact, a chest that mirrored the same Mesharri-ornamented chest in his shop located in, Temur heard at least, at a tavern in an island in the Pirate Coast, would already receive the same letter in mere hours. “He would already know I’ve figured it out by sun down.”

“Sun down? You just got back from the market. Wherever he is, he couldn’t have already received the letter... unless he’s in Volyani waters.”

“Asran was given an artifact by Erkan that enabled fast correspondence.”

Freya’s scowl hardened. “Of course. He could give it to anyone. He could give it to _me_. But he gave it to his fucking _Cahotran_ friend, not his sister. I’m going to kill him if I meet him.”

“I’m glad that you are not going to,” Temur frowned in worry, knowing that the _Hatun_ is serious about it.

The reply came in the night. A Cahotran red crow perched in the window sill of his study with a letter tied in its claws. Tamar, who was studying the ancient language of Erz in Temur’s desk, was the one who spotted it, and nearly lost her eye if not for Temur’s interruption.

“ _Don’t touch it_. That bird is trained to only give it to me.”

After a near altercation, Temur fished the short message from the bird and opened it. The familiar scrawl of Erol’s hurried writing stared back at him, earning a gasp from Freya, who he knew was hanging by a _mere_ thread to not take away the letter from his hand. Temur had half the mind to give her the letter—Freya had not talked to Erol in five years—but the content of the message prevented him.

_Telyan,_

_I’ve already sent a friend to Volyani waters a week ago after you first told me that you almost finished the map. It will arrive in a month’s time. As soon as you see the Cahotran flag, board it at once. They will bring you to Selara in the Pirate Coast, where I resided. Tell your father you will be embarking a journey to the Mesharri Isles—you can tell him anything you want, really. I look forward to seeing your stupid face again._

_Jinn_

“He is under false name,” Freya’s hand curled around Temur’s arm as she murmured, her voice thick with sadness.

“That’s not a false name,” he replied.

“ _Erol_ is his name.”

“Pirate Coast is a dangerous place,” Tamar mused, again, with much more intrigue than anything, worrying Temur even further. “You can’t be alone at that place.”

“Yes,” Freya agreed, “we will come.”

Temur could only stare at the surefire exchange with a scowl. “By Gods’ name, who the fuck said you two could come?”

“I do,” Freya’s eyes were cold against his skin. “Tell me not to come, Temur of Antigoni, and I will send Demara to close the port at once. If my parents heard that you were sending letters with my brother, not only you would get into a lot of trouble, de Brunn will be in one too.”

That brought a chill into Temur’s spine. He couldn’t—he simply couldn’t. Asra had followed Erol into exile—he was supposed to protect and keep watch of Erol, after all—separating him from his family while doing so. Erol sent him here so he could raise his daughter in Volinia with his wife, far away from the danger of the Pirate Coast, far away from the politics of Mesharri. He couldn’t take that away from him; Asra had suffered enough.

He sighed. Erol was going to murder him. But he needed the map, and this is the only way he could get the map to him.

“Alright, alright!” He exclaimed, much to the two’s glee. “You can come. But you two must be the one to lie to Father about our journey.”

Tamar grinned at him, in the daredevil way of hers, “Oh, believe me, Telyan, it is fatal that we’re the one to lie to Father about this.”


	2. A Summer Storm

Lying to his father had been too easy with Tamar and Freya’s help, making him wonder what else they had fooled Brunn of Antigoni into believing. In a month’s time, the Cahotran crow came back to his window, bringing news from Asra that the ship Erol had sent for him had been seen in the horizon. By the next day, after the provisions were loaded, the goods they traded were sold, they boarded the ship, embarking on the journey to the Elara, although the papers the captain signed told customs that they were heading to Mesharri Isles.

Busy with preparing his work, Temur had not talked to Freya in a while—he was surprised to find that _Hatun_ at his door after dinner (he had refused invitations from the Captain to dine in the common area, as he busied himself into translating old Erz parchments containing more information about the artifact), her dyed silk around her head. As soon as she boarded the ship, she had presumed her Mesharri clothing, abandoning coarse Volyani cotton for silk. She had introduced herself as Hafsa to the crew; so far, none of the crew recognized the Imperial Princess of Murayyan.

“ _Hatun_ —“

“We’re not in Volinia anymore, Temur, I know you hate using those titles,” Freya sighed as she lingered in the doorway of the small cabin—she shared hers with Tamar, with Demara, her knightguard at the smallest cabin beside them, and their enthusiasm was missed by most of the crew. She was far shorter than him, as full-blooded Mesharri tend to be on the shorter side, especially compared to Volyani folk. “Can I come in?”

_I’m busy_ , he wanted to say. But she was still the Imperial Princess, even when she already commanded him to forget the titles. He moved aside and let Freya came in.

She took a seat on a small chair that the Captain had provided for him. “I need to know,” she suddenly said. “I wanted to ask you before, but you were busy preparing, but I need to know... why _Abi_ reached out to you instead of me.”

Temur leaned back on the wooden walls of the ship. It’s been years since he heard Freya refer Erol as _Abi_ —an affectionate term for an older brother for the Mesharri. They might have sired with different mother, though different from Temur and Tamar, it had not happened because their mother had passed but rather because the _Sultan_ had a few wives in his harem. The last time Freya had referred Erol as Abi, Erol was still... normal, for lack of better term. That time before, when he had not even the slightest hint of interest towards being inside the treasury.

“Feyran,” he sighed, feeling exhausted all of the sudden, “I don’t know what to say. When the first letter arrived, you were not yet sent here by the _Sultan_. I heard one morning that there’s a new book merchant in town. When I approached him, I recognized Asran at once. He gave me the first letter.”

“Did he know I was at Volinia? Did you tell him?”

“I told him in one of my letters,” Temur replied honestly. Two years ago, when the _Sultan_ sent Freya with Demara to the Castle Lustrum, Temur was in the hall when Demara told his father that he was to protect Freya while Murayyan was suffering from rebellion in Cahotran. Later, he realized that Demara was not tasked to protect Freya as much as to prevent her from chasing over her brother when the _Sultan_ was busy commanding the army. “He said he’s glad you’re far away from the conflicts, I think. But soon after we’re back talking about artifacts.”

Freya looked hurt as she stared down at her feet. “That bastard,” she muttered. “He could’ve sent Asra for me too. He could have told you to pass a message to me. But he didn’t.”

Temur scratched his head, again, unsure on what to say. “He doesn’t want to involve you in this again.”

That brought a scoff to Freya’s mouth. “Ha! As if I can leave him alone, him and that _shadow_ of his—“

“Let’s not talk about that,” Temur’s mood darkened at once at the mention.

Freya sensed his discomfort and gentled at once. “Telyan,” she started, “I don’t blame you. This is only happening because of him. Not sending a message to me, that’s his fault too. What happened before. That’s not your fault.”

“It’s not your fault either, yet here you are, dumped to us Volyani because the _Sultan_ is angry at you.”

He thought that Freya would be offended, but instead, she guffawed in a way that was not very ladylike. When she smiled at him, really _smiled_ , not the kind of short guise she offered to anyone in the Castle Lustrum, she seemed like she lit the entire room; Temur understood, at once, why Tamar, with her hands rough from alchemist substances and wooden sword in the yard, was in love with her.

“I know there’s something between you and Taman,” he stated.

“I don’t realize we were hiding.”

“For what it’s worth,” he tried to ignore her taunt, “I want you two to be happy. If it comes to defending you against my father, I will.”

Freya stared at him with that large eyes of her, halfway to a laugh already at his statement. He had aimed for honorable. He might have fell short.

“I won’t need defending,” Freya grinned. “But I’m glad you like me enough to give me a permission to court your sister.”

* * *

The voyage at sea was something that his thin, scholar body refused to partake of. The dance of the waves made his poor stomach struggle in the first days—it wasn’t the first time he had been in the sea, but it was the first time he’d done it in a smaller merchant ship—to the point that he couldn’t even be on deck for more than several minutes. By a week, his body had become accustomed by his own volition, but his heart hammered in his ribcage as soon as he saw Tamar helping the crews in the starboard.

“By Deneir, Tamar,” he hissed as she jumped from the ropes, laughing with a crew member her age as she did so. “What are you even doing?”

“Oh, Telyan, I’m glad you’re well enough to join us today.”

“If Father knows—“

“ _Relax_. We’re not in Volinia anymore. We can do anything!” She grinned as she circled her arm around his shoulders, her usually straight hair turning into a wave due to the salt in the wind. “Besides, Father already knows. I’m not holed up in the castle like you, this is my twentieth voyage. I’m already acquainted with the ropes—unlike the seamen, of course, I’ll never be able to know the sea like you, Jan,” she made a respectful wave of her hand to the crew member she was with. “I’ll see you later, okay? Lord Temur wants a word with me.”

Jan grinned at Tamar before leaving. The easy way she friended everyone she met was something of a natural talent. Being born in a Bloom, of course, made everyone think she was blessed, but whatever luck his sister was born into was only made real by her confidence.

He only noticed by then that she had abandoned her expensive Volyani clothing to something more neutral, like she raided a crew member’s wardrobe. But the expensive dyed cotton that his hand felt made him realize that it was made by his family’s tailor, just made for something else that wasn’t doing business in the castle. Tamar, being the alchemist that she was, turned up in the sea the most in his family. Although Temur was the only one who lived in Mesharri in his formative years, Tamar studied in the Val Sorra with Mesharri and Sor alchemists for most of her teen years. She finished her study around the time Freya came to Volinia, but she still often went out to the sea to accompany their parents to trade.

“If you’re so knowledgeable about the ship, do you know where the Captain is? I’m trying to find out how far we are from the Pirate Coast, at the moment.”

“Oh, that I know. You’re lucky you didn’t ask what’s the provision for tonight or something,” Tamar nodded solemnly. Though Temur already knew what they were eating tonight; they’ve been eating dried meat for the last couple of days with potato stew. It was his fault after all. They had insisted to eat with the crew. “The Captain said that we’re a week away. But also,” she glanced at the horizon, “there’s a summer’s storm coming.”

A storm? Temur could barely manage with sunny skies. “That does not sound promising,” he responded grimly.

“Oh, relax, we’ll survive. The crew’s old, been living in the sea for a decade.”

That did not calm him down, but he knew that Tamar had more knowledge in this than him. He only pressed his lips thinly as he made his way onto the starboard, eyeing a pair of seamen looking at the storm with hushed voices—as they approached, however, the pair quietened and dispersed. He raised an eyebrow at that.

“I say that,” he heard Tamar say behind him, “yet you know, for the crew, every storm is something you should be worried about.”

Temur continued to stare at the pair of crew, who was now busying themselves with the ropes with the kind of behavior served for people caught with their hands up someone’s dress. Something was wrong, he knew. He wished he had the same chest as Asra. They could have sent a message for Erol.

“I’m going back to my room,” he turned to Tamar’s worried look, mirroring his, “when the storm arrives, knock at my door, will you?”

* * *

He awoken, and the ship was swaying.

He didn’t need anyone knocking at his door. He could already feel it, feel it churning his stomach into butter. He frowned as he almost tumbled out of the bed, grabbing the frame of his bed. There was a weak morning light outside, but the gray clouds enveloped the air until it swallowed every light that managed to slip through.

Temur grumbled as he crawled to the chest located near his desk. He might not have the magical artifact as Asra and Erol, but there was an enchantment in the chest that enabled it to float and for the water to not seep through. Although magic was outlawed in occupied Volinia, royalty like him and his family, who needed to be at sea for a long time, asked favors for the enchanted chest to protect knowledge.

It made no matter that they were of blue blood. If the Mesharri found out they were commissioning enchanter to make magical chest, they would probably be executed without court time.

Somewhere in the ship, he heard something breaking and crashing.

“Temur!”

It didn’t come as a knock—rather, somebody had nearly broken down his door to reach him. He stood up from where he was kneeling to find the _Hatun_ in Tamar’s arms, their faces and clothing wet from the rain.

“The ship—it won’t make it—“

“How far are we?”

They both looked at him like he was crazy. “What do you mean, how far are _we_?” Freya was the one to yell at him. “We could die here!”

They couldn’t die.

Destiny simply wouldn’t let them.

“We wouldn’t.” He scowled at them. “Help me bring the chest to the deck.”

They both seemed like they want to murder him. Yet, at the end, Freya turned at the corridor and yelled, “ _Demara_!”

The chest was not that big, the size of Temur’s chest at the very least, and since it was only filled with parchments of his research, the muscled lady knight with olive skin managed to lift it at once. Temur lingered in his room, searching for the steel pendant that his father had given him before they went to the voyage—it was shaped like an eye inside a sun, a symbol of the Empire, the one that guaranteed them safe passage if they were forced to deal with merchants—but he couldn’t find it. He yelled as the ship swayed and he lost his balance, almost tumbling to the wall if not for the hand that grabbed his arm and steadied him.

Freya glared at him. “I know there’s something wrong about this,” she muttered. Even underneath the sound of shouts that came from the corridor and the waves that was going crazy around them, her words seemed loud between them. He had not realized that they had stayed in the room—behind her, Tamar’s lips were thin as she stared at him. “ _You_ are as obsessed with this as he is.”

“I am not obsessed,” Temur hissed. “But I have to... I have to be able to help him.”

“What happened back there in the treasury, Telyan,” she shook her head, “that wasn’t your fault. That wasn’t _only_ your fault, at least. If you want to shoulder this burden yourself when I also had a hand in it, you’re... don’t be an idiot about this. You can’t help him that way.”

“That’s where you are wrong, _Hatun_.” He pushed the arm away, stumbling behind him as he did so. “This might be the only way to help him. You don’t know anything about his condition anymore—you haven’t seen him for so many years. It’s the only way to be able to get him home.”

As Freya pulled her hand away, the warmth that had grew in her for him disappeared, replaced with the icy shoulder of a crown princess. Her jaw tightened as she said, very, very quietly. “Not by choice,” she stepped away. “Not by choice.”

“We have to get to the deck,” Tamar interrupted their conversation. “We’re losing time. What are you searching for?”

His eyes flailed wildly around the room. Settling on a small dagger that was located in the desk, his late mother’s gift, he grabbed it and turned to them. “I got it,” he lied. “I got it.”

* * *

As the ship slowly sank, the Captain—the _goodhearted_ , kind Captain, was the one who pushed them to the small boat, meant for survivors, as the crew took the other boats. Demara had put the chest inside the small boat, the room cramped with the bodies of him, his sister and the _Hatun_.

“I’ll have to take the other boat,” Demara said, more to Freya than to the others. Freya slowly nodded, but for a moment, she held Demara’s hand before letting it go.

As the boat crashed into the water, the three of them held on to the boat, Freya in Tamar’s arms, while he held on to the chest, praying to every Gods above and the ones below to save them.

“This storm isn’t normal!” he heard Tamar yell.

They were pushed and pushed by the waves, and it felt like such a long time until finally the waters slowly calmed. The wind was no longer blaring in their ears, and sun slowly came out of the dark clouds. Under the sun, as if revealed by the waves, the three of them stared as a galleon showed in the horizon, dark wood hulking over them like a giant.

“Oh, for the _Sutan_ ’s sake,” Freya grumbled behind him.

“Oh, no,” Tamar said.

The storm had disappeared as quickly as it appeared. Tamar was right—it wasn’t normal. And a ship this big... they should have seen it before. It seemed unaffected by the storm that had sunk their ship.

The crew had started yelling, preparing to bring them up. The three of them glanced to each other.

“We are not royalty,” Temur said to them.

Freya’s face churned. “You don’t have the pendant.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Tamar shook her head. “It doesn’t matter if he has it or not. They don’t care.”

“I have quite a bit of gold in that chest,” Temur squeezed the bridge of his nose. “We can pay them to carry us to Selara. But if they know we’re of royal blood, they’ll just hold us for ransom. So, we’re just scholars. Hell, that _isn’t_ even quite a lie. There’s a lot of merchant children that were scholars in Volinia.”

A rope ladder had been rolled down to them. A person with flaming red hair slid down the rope as if gravity did not agree with them, and they pointed a gun at them with a smile. At once, Temur recognized the Cahotran features in his face—the face that was both beautiful as a man and as a woman.

“Hello there,” the Cahotran smiled at them. “Couldn’t be comfortable sitting around here in such a small boat. Out of the goodness of our heart, we’re helping you. Don’t want to be stuck here if another storm rolls around, don’t you?”

“Quite a warm welcome,” Freya grumbled.

“Oh, are you a Mesharri? You _look_ like a Messhari and listen—I don’t care enough to respect you. Up you go, ladies first.” The Cahotran pointed the gun at her before nudging towards the ship. “There’s a chest here! Bring it up!”

Reluctantly, both Freya and Tamar climbed up while Temur stayed with his chest, glaring at them. The Cahotran watched him with cautious eyes as he felt the dagger that he still was. His hand traced it, ready to pull it out—only for the barrel of the gun to be suddenly staring at his skull.

“I wouldn’t try if I were you.”

“Quite rare for a Captain to be handling loot—“

“Oh, sweetheart,” the Cahotran cooed, “I’m not the Captain. The Captain is up there.” His eyes darted to the now empty ladder. “Now, up you go. Don’t worry, the chest is safe with me, I’ll give you my word.”

Temur climbed.

On the deck, barrels upon barrels of guns stared at their faces. He instinctively slouched his posture as the crew hauled his chest up. The Cahotran appeared again, their gun disappearing under the Regnum clothing they were wearing—masculine, but it made no matter; it was rude to misgender a Cahotran.

“Rich,” another crew member, an older one with salt-and-pepper hair, called at them, “you want me to call the Capt’n?”

“No. I’ll call him. Bring some water for these people. Sarge told us to be _hospitable_ , we should comply—no need for every one of you to threaten them; have you looked at them? Like taking a toy from a baby. Keep a few. Take care while I get the Captain.”

The older crew yelled at the other crew members. “You heard him! Scurry!”

Between the bustle of the ship, Temur and Freya exchanged glances. Slowly, he made his way towards the two of them, before holding their hands.

See? Destiny wouldn’t let them _die_ , it would, however, led them to a pirate’s ship.

“If we can get off this ship, I’m going to murder you,” Freya murmured to him in Mesharri.

Temur almost laughed. “If we’re getting off this ship,” he whispered, mimicking his childhood language, practiced and without a trace of his Volyani accent, “I’m holding on to that.”


End file.
